


Guitar From the Wall

by narikalen



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-15
Updated: 2009-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narikalen/pseuds/narikalen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pull down that old guitar from the wall and sing along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guitar From the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to Corb Lund's Guitar From the Wall (who I blatantly stole the title and some lyrics from) and this just made me want to write it. Un-betaed. C&C always appreciated.

The guitar sits square in the middle of the wall. There’s nothing else adorning the bare whiteness; just one scuffed up old guitar. Rodney itches to pull it off the wall, take it down and throw it out, leave that part of his life behind, but he can’t; he won’t. There’s too many stories, too many precious memories stored in that guitar, in every scratch, in every string.

He remembers the first time John pulled it out, on a trip to PX3-4R2, near the end of their first year out in Pegasus. They were on some sort of team building exercise (camping), and, in a rare stroke of luck, the team wasn’t being chased by hostile natives, or forced to hide in a cave from the disturbingly T-Rex type dinosaur thing (and that was a trip to PH4-3M9 that they won’t be repeating again). They were sitting around a small fire, him and Teyla and Ford, and John just pulled it out of his pack, like it belonged, like Rodney belonged, and played stupid oldies, which he insisted they teach Teyla. In turn, Teyla taught the team some old Athosian songs that John picked up and accompanied on his guitar. Rodney, of course, refused to sing along. Which, of course, was when the giant buzzing insects got agitated and attacked, and the team had to run for their lives. Again. That’s where that big scratch along the side came from; John had used it like a bat and smacked one of the bugs but good. And then the Wraith had attacked Atlantis, and Ford was gone, and Rodney didn’t see the guitar again for a long, long time.

Rodney survived the almost drowning, and for days, John seemed extra...clingy. Like he couldn’t believe that Rodney was still around, still alive. And that’s when he saw the guitar again. John would take it out, and stroke the strings, like an old lover. And it made Rodney wonder, always made him wonder, what it would feel like if John were to stroke him like that. But of course, he’d bury those thoughts and focus on the soft notes that John was strumming. John always sang old songs, ones that Rodney knew too, tried to convince Rodney to sing with him. Rodney still refused. Just told John to stop with the stupid picking at what passed for music.

When they were forced back to Earth (and isn’t it funny that that’s how Rodney still thinks of it, of being forced back to Earth) when the Ancients returned, John would come and hang out with Rodney in Nevada, or Rodney would go to Colorado to see John, and that guitar would always be there. A reminder of what they could have had. And once, when it was late, and they were tired and full of good food and John was still riding the adrenaline of a good football game, he pulled out that guitar, and just picked at it. And Rodney, Rodney only had a moment to think screw it before he found himself leaning over the damn wooden thing and kissing John. When John started playing again, playing the old Athosian songs that Teyla had taught them such a long time ago, he’d still invite Rodney to sing with him. But now Rodney had a much more effective deterrent then just saying no.

Rodney thought they would have forever, and that guitar went with them every-damn-where. It got beaten up, marked up, bartered over, flirted over, spilled on, and on one memorable occasion, electrocuted. It survived bear-like creatures, tree-like creatures, and female-like creatures (okay, those were possibly just really slutty females throwing themselves at John), and an intergalactic trip through space (four times). And when he and John finally retired, got out, that guitar went with them to their ranch. And every night, John would pull it out, and try to get Rodney to sing with him. And Rodney never did; he figured they’d have a good long time for John to finally convince him.

He didn’t think that John would get sick; neither of them did. Near the end there, they were both so busy, trying to keep John alive, that there wasn’t time for anything else. Rodney was just trying to hold on as long as he could to the one thing that meant the most to him, but in the end, John still went. John still left him behind. And in the aftermath of it all, Rodney just felt hollow. He packed away John’s things, donated his clothes to the Salvation Army, and put the rest into boxes. But he couldn’t bring himself to take down that guitar.

Rodney stares at the guitar every night, and wishes that John were there to pull down that old guitar from the wall, and invite him to sing along.


End file.
